Followers Tales
by Purveyor of Words
Summary: A series of drabbles created from various adventures throughout Skyrim.


Tolerance (Erandur)

Amidst their curious travels, the Dragonborn found her recently acquired companion thoughtful, careful, yet insightful. The Dunmer, former Priest of Vaermina, turned Priest of Mara, was a curious sight next to his shorter human counterpart, and more often than not, she found themselves the object of curious stares and inquisitive whispers. She ignored them mostly; her goals were far more important than being the town's newest gossip.

For his part, Erandur offered his indispensable wisdom and knowledge throughout their journey, and if he noticed the strange looks and heard hushed tones, he dutifully ignored them.

She also noticed he never complained, to her, that is. Bandits, assassins, beasts and dragons got quite an earful, from insults and curses, to full blown fire magic.

But never once had he expressed his disapproval towards their objective, discontent towards going in a cave, dislike for an old, run down, barely held together by the crumbling mountainside, dungeon.

"Windhelm is absolutely freezing! How can these people tolerate it?"

To say she was taken back, like calling grounded dragon annoyed.

"It's not the same thing," he huffed, for the thousandth time that day. After his outburst upon nearing the stables to the city, the duo found themselves in a curious debate over the frigid temperatures as they made their way to gates. His usually inscrutable expression flitted from faint exasperation to slight indignation as he perceived the wilting mountain flowers just before bridge, their colors fading from incoming cold, to be the most fascinating things on the road.

"Erandur, they both have snow, they are both really cold-"

"Dawnstar is nowhere near as freezing as this damn place this, Her Benevolence forgive my choice of words." The priest pulled his robes tighter around himself, His long ashen fingers tucked within the folds, the bitter wind threatening to hear the hood off his head. The Dragonborn made a mental note to check local shops for a warmer robe for her disquiet partner. He glanced to snow flecked sky, whether to curse the weather, or pray to Mara for his verbiage, she couldn't be sure.

"You can't tell me Dawnstar hasn't seen its share of cold and snow. When I first came in, the town was in path of blizzard. Surely-"

His crimson orbs riveted back to her, his nostrils slightly flared.

"I'm not blind, and I have dealt with them, thank you very much," his tone edging condescension. "And yes, Dawnstar has had its share of snow and storms. In all my years, never once have I encountered a place as freezing as this."

Dragonborn and Dunmer meandered quietly over the bridge. Upon gaining entry to the city, the wind died, but the cold lingered; reaching beyond the body, and rested in the soul. While they never spoke of it, the city itself seem to riot untold emotion within the pair, nothing to do with the weather.

"Go back to where ya came from, filthy gray shkin!" A clatter, a shatter, and a curse, the troubled set turned to see a disheveled man, backside buried in snow, slobbering nonsense at the Dunmer as he struggled from the bank.

A sigh, just barely heard over the jeering Nord. "Sera," the somber mage started, "Might I ask why we are resting _here_?"

A brief glance over her shoulder, she met opaque eyes and vague expression. "It's only for the night," her tone reassuring, "We will leave tomorrow morning, there's this Dwemmer Ruin, M-zult? Mzut?" She paused a moment, frowning, eyebrows scrunched.

"Mzulft?" He inquired, kindly. She tried so hard to pronounce those names, names he himself stuttered on occasion.

"That one!" She grinned at him, mood shifting like the wind. "I really want to try that lightning bolt spell you taught me on a few of the machines in there, I really think I can get the hang of it if I could just…"

She babbled on, leading them both to the expansive building in front of them, burying themselves into the warmth inside Candlehearth Hall, pausing only to purchase food, drink, and room from the tightlipped keeper, who conveniently avoided his gaze, and barely glanced at the Dragonborn herself.

Once they were settled in with warm bread, fresh cheese and crisp mead, they pondered the map of the coldest land in Tamriel the songs of the bard up above, and chatter across the hall surrounding them. They chatted amiably, argument lost with the cold outside, sharing thoughts, trading ideas.

Long into the night, after food and drink were gone, they relaxed near the windows, backs resting lightly together, watching the snow gently gather at the edges.

Moments like this, one could easily forget the looming threat of the great beast that threatened the sky. One could easily forget the stirring commotion of fiery rebellers in this frost-bitten city, or the brewing determination of steadfast defenders on the far corner of the world. In such sparse moments, one could almost see through the fierce land, her breath a bitter winter, stifling her inhabitants with snow, gripping the land in shear ice. To see her inhale long enough to grant dainty blossoms dotting the mountainside, to see her fingers of frost retreat long enough to allow luscious grasses to dust the brilliant landscape with such life and purity—

"Damn elves." Rolff's drunken slur was just outside their closed door, he fist slamming just shy of the doorframe, his belligerent voice as loud as his careless stumbling.

Erandur sighed. If only he could tolerate the cold in the people of Windhelm.

A/N: I really like Erandur, I think his backstory, and his random babbles throughout Skyrim give a much-needed relief to the game. Such a pity you can't marry the fool in the console versions. Shame. Any who. I thought I would get back into writing by starting with some drabbles, this little brainchild poking up from my many travels with this lovely Dunmer. I think this approach to his saying in Windhelm is more appropriate.

I have not forgotten Eyes of the Sun, for those that may remember that story. I could bore you with a great tale of wanting better than a low pay job, ambition to succeed at another, wondrous promotions achieved from hard work, but, that's boring. For everyone else but me. Besides, the hard work paid off, and I got promoted, so yay me anyway. I think, before I start diving back into the hard stuff in writing, we'll start with some drabbles. These are so much easier.

Shout out to my Beta Reader, Tiara of Sapphires for reviewing this for me!

Questions, comments, concerns, (as my manager would say)?


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